A Paraphrase on an Ode in Horace’s Third Book, beginning thus:— “Inclusam Danaen turris ahenea.” by Abraham Cowley
I.
A tower of brass, one would have said,
And locks, and bolts, and iron bars,
And guards as strict as in the heat of wars
Might have preserved one innocent maidenhood.
The jealous father thought he well might spare
All further jealous care;
And as he walked, to himself alone he smiled
To think how Venus’ arts he had beguiled;
And when he slept his rest was deep,
But Venus laughed to see and hear him sleep.
She taught the amorous Jove
A magical receipt in love,
Which armed him stronger and which helped him more
Than all his thunder did and his almightyship before.
II.
She taught him love’s elixir, by which art
His godhead into gold he did convert;
No guards did then his passage stay,
He passed with ease, gold was the word;
Subtle as lightning, bright, and quick, and fierce,
Gold through doors and walls did pierce;
And as that works sometimes upon the sword,
Melted the maiden dread away,
Even in the secret scabbard where it lay.
The prudent Macedonian king,
To blow up towns, a golden mine did spring;
He broke through gates with this petar,
’Tis the great art of peace, the engine ’tis of war,
And fleets and armies follow it afar;
The ensign ’tis at land, and ’tis the seaman’s scar.
III.
Let all the world slave to this tyrant be,
Creature to this disguisèd deity,
Yet it shall never conquer me.
A guard of virtues will not let it pass,
And wisdom is a tower of stronger brass.
The muses’ laurel, round my temples spread,
Does from this lightning’s force secure my head,
Nor will I lift it up so high,
As in the violent meteor’s way to lie.
Wealth for its power do we honour and adore?
The things we hate, ill fate, and death, have more.
IV.
From towns and courts, camps of the rich and great,
The vast Xerxean army, I retreat,
And to the small Laconic forces fly
Which hold the straits of poverty.
Cellars and granaries in vain we fill
With all the bounteous summer’s store:
If the mind thirst and hunger still,
The poor rich man’s emphatically poor.
Slaves to the things we too much prize,
We masters grow of all that we despise.
V.
A field of corn, a fountain, and a wood,
Is all the wealth by nature understood.
The monarch on whom fertile Nile bestows
All which that grateful earth can bear,
Deceives himself, if he suppose
That more than this falls to his share.
Whatever an estate does beyond this afford,
Is not a rent paid to the Lord;
But is a tax illegal and unjust,
Exacted from it by the tyrant lust.
Much will always wanting be,
To him who much desires. Thrice happy he
To whom the wise indulgency of Heaven,
With sparing hand but just enough has given.
Other works by Abraham Cowley:
Some works by other baroque authors
- Sonnet 77: Thy glass will show thee how thy beauties wear by William Shakespeare
- Sonnet 76: Why is my verse so barren of new pride? by William Shakespeare
- Sonnet 75: So are you to my thoughts as food to life by William Shakespeare
- Sonnet CVIII by William Shakespeare
- Sonnet CVII: Not Mine Own Fears, Nor the Prophetic Soul by William Shakespeare
- Sonnet CVII by William Shakespeare
- Sonnet CVI by William Shakespeare
- Sonnet CV by William Shakespeare
- Sonnet CLIV by William Shakespeare
- Sonnet CLIII by William Shakespeare
- Sonnet CLII by William Shakespeare
- Sonnet CLI by William Shakespeare
- Sonnet CL by William Shakespeare
- Sonnet CIX by William Shakespeare
- Sonnet CIV by William Shakespeare
- Sonnet CIII by William Shakespeare
- Sonnet CII by William Shakespeare
- Sonnet CI by William Shakespeare
- Sonnet C by William Shakespeare
- Sonnet 9: Is it for fear to wet a widow’s eye by William Shakespeare
- Sonnet 98: From you have I been absent in the spring by William Shakespeare
- Sonnet 97: How like a winter hath my absence been by William Shakespeare
- Sonnet 96: Some say thy fault is youth, some wantonness by William Shakespeare
- Sonnet CXXVIII by William Shakespeare
- Sonnet CXXVII by William Shakespeare
- Sonnet CXXVI by William Shakespeare
- Sonnet CXXV by William Shakespeare
- Sonnet CXXIX by William Shakespeare
- Sonnet CXXIV by William Shakespeare
- Sonnet CXXIII by William Shakespeare
- Sonnet CXXII by William Shakespeare
- Sonnet CXXI by William Shakespeare
- Sonnet CXX by William Shakespeare
- Sonnet CXVIII by William Shakespeare
- Sonnet CXVII by William Shakespeare
- Sonnet CXV by William Shakespeare
- Sonnet CXLVIII by William Shakespeare
- Sonnet CXLVII by William Shakespeare
- Sonnet CXLVI by William Shakespeare
- Sonnet CXLV by William Shakespeare
- Sonnet CXLIX by William Shakespeare
- Sonnet CXLIV by William Shakespeare
- Sonnet CXLIII by William Shakespeare
- Sonnet CXLII by William Shakespeare
- Sonnet CXLI by William Shakespeare
- Sonnet CXL by William Shakespeare
- Sonnet CXIX by William Shakespeare
- Sonnet CXIV by William Shakespeare
- Sonnet CXIII by William Shakespeare
- Sonnet CXII by William Shakespeare
Abraham Cowley (1618 – 1667), the Royalist Poet.Poet and essayist Abraham Cowley was born in London, England, in 1618. He displayed early talent as a poet, publishing his first collection of poetry, Poetical Blossoms (1633), at the age of 15. Cowley studied at Cambridge University but was stripped of his Cambridge fellowship during the English Civil War and expelled for refusing to sign the Solemn League and Covenant of 1644. In turn, he accompanied Queen Henrietta Maria to France, where he spent 12 years in exile, serving as her secretary. During this time, Cowley completed The Mistress (1647). Arguably his most famous work, the collection exemplifies Cowley’s metaphysical style of love poetry. After the Restoration, Cowley returned to England, where he was reinstated as a Cambridge fellow and earned his MD before finally retiring to the English countryside. He is buried at Westminster Abbey alongside Geoffrey Chaucer and Edmund Spenser. Cowley is a wonderful poet and an outstanding representative of the English baroque.